The Washington critic., 1887-11-03


him weariedly, then fixed bis gaze
upon my face. In spite of myself !
blushed and looked down. Then /
heard him murmur, as II to himself.
"'It must-my little recruit-ran
or
II dared not raise my eyes, though
I could aflerward have bitten out my
tongue at my own stupidity. / might
have given him one word-one sign
even Of recognition; but no; must
stand there down. faced like a fool,
until a grasping sigh aroused me.
He had tainted dead away. He
never seemed to know me after that.
All me Perhaps It is just as well, for
In this terrible hurly burly Of war we
are not likely to meet again.
THEY.
On mellow May morning of the year
1867, a gentleman was walking along
one Of those puzzling. alphabetical side
streets of Washington, which In the
early post bellum days were usually
either bathed In mud or chokcd with
dust. A lodging and boarding. house
atmosphere pervaded the dingy brick
houses on either side. A tawdry weari-
ness Of aspect brooded over them. as
though the requirements Of existence
were burdensome.
Andrew Johnson's efforts to concili.
ate the old aristocratic element of the
South were at their climax, and the
National Capital was much frequented
by the social and political leaders of
Dixie In consequence. Many Of them
were sadly impoverished and aired, per
force, their deoayed yet unruillcd gen.
,ili,y about the boarding houses rather
than the great hotels.
The gentleman finally pulled q certain
door bell and was ushered into much
used parlor by white aproned mulatto.
who took his card and hastened up
stairs. The visitor sank back into a
chair and looked out at the window.
lie was tall, slender and well dressed,
with pensive air, long brown nous
tache and close clipped hair, slightly
,inged with gray. Five minutes passed,
and his attitude remained unchanged.
Then there was u soft rustic of drapery
down the hall, faint scent Of violets In
the air, and low, clear voice entering
his ear as its owner glided into his
presence. He had arisen. hat In hand,
us these words were uttered.
DIR. 1yzardc will pardon this in,ru.
sion ! hope. for instead of Mr.. Sea
brook, II is only his niece. Uncle Hor.
ace Is cut - Good Heavens 2"
My little recruit againl"
These EXPLANATIONS were the result
of mutual survey of each other. The
1nlty fltIlal t,tp1aplltr thar hnr
slowly paled, as her large eyes rested In
wondering embarrassment on the
stranger. He drew deep breath, then
said, hesitatingly:
"Are you, indeed, Mr.. Seabroolt's 8
niece-his favorite niece, as he has
told me?"
HE Is foolish enough to call me so; ;
yet-what must you think Of me-you,
his old friend, whom thought had
never seen beforc2"
Her color again rose aud her eyes fell
before his gaze. but he smiled
roguishly, saying:
at might take hours to tell al l
have thought about you. And so you
were the romantic young lady who ran
away from the convent school In
Charleston after Gettysburg, bent on
doing heroic and impracticable won
ders for your country. Horace wrote
me something of 1t at the time, yet |
never dreamed until now that my little
recruit and she were one"
II fear 1t has not added to your good
opinion Of me, and had l thought the
stern young doctor before whom !
trembled, and Uncle Horace's old
friend George Iyzarde were also one
and the same, should never have
dared to face you"
"Yet have often wished to see you, y
said he earnestly. ut must have been
that the wish was father to the thought
In enabling me TO recognize you to-
day, having only seen you once before. u
Are You so sure Of that?" she
asked, archly.
lie looked at her inqulringly, then
replied:
II was wounded, you know, or rather
| you didn't know. 1t was shortly be
fore the surrender. I was delirious,
think, but / fancied that | caugh
glimpses of your face, fa!rer than had
seen 1t before. yet still yours. 1t wa
doubtless only fancy, though its fleet
ing, recurring vividness made it seen
real"
Then you never heard of Sister
Maria Jones p
Her face was grave. yet a merry ligh
danced In her eyes.
"Well, no." he returned, unsus
pcctingly. "There were many nurses
about us, yet. l believe you arr
quizzing me-"
"What wonderful penetration So
sir, you never heard of herr fear yoI
will next deny having coldly advised /
timid soldier boy to go as nurse, afte
telling him"
why, of course, l remember that
and"
"Silence After plainly intlmatin.
that his budding patriotism deserved NJ
higher avenue to fame
II humbly plead guilty to tha
charge, yet what has that to do will
Sister Maria Smith,"
Jones, sir. There were already to-
many Smiths In the order. Now, don
1t occur to you that your soldier boz
might have rechanged his sex in ap
pearing as nurseY Men have many
privileges, but sisterhood is as yc
denied them. Sister Tom Jone
wouldn't have sounded well, SO 1t hat
TO be Maria instead, and"
Then you were Sister Marla2"
"Who nursed you In the field hos
pital."
"Then did see you there after all
shall never dispute my fancles again
How / regret that | did not have sens
to express my gratitude.
They looked at each other In silcnc
for moment. Then her gaze WANDERED
through the window; on her cheek wa
a tender play of color, and she sighe,
softly. His own look was one of un
repressed admiration. Finally he tool
her unresisting hand, saying: